


Marigold

by chrisgiaconfetti



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Love is Fatal, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Decaying Body, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Falling In Love, First Love, Heavy Angst, Hurt, Love, Love Confessions, Love is Fatal, Mild Gore, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 12:54:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11162265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrisgiaconfetti/pseuds/chrisgiaconfetti
Summary: In our fucked up world, love is not something to be pursued by the faint-of-heart. When you fall in love, you fall apart. Literally. Your skin peels away, you decay while you’re still alive, until nothing is left of you. And you give the pieces of yourself that have crumbled away to the person you love. You truly give all of yourself to whoever receives your flame.





	Marigold

**Author's Note:**

> This is a very different twist on the Soulmates AU. It is slightly inspired by Hanahaki disease, but other than that, it's an original idea. 
> 
> It is a little gory, but it's not too graphic.
> 
> I think that's all the notes I have for this one.
> 
> Happy reading!

In our fucked up world, love is not something to be pursued by the faint-of-heart. When you fall in love, you fall apart. Literally. Your skin peels away, you decay while you’re still alive, until nothing is left of you. And you give the pieces of yourself that have crumbled away to the person you love. You truly give all of yourself to whoever receives your flame.

**

It was dark outside. It had been dark all week. The sun never cared enough to push through the heavy layers of clouds and rain. It was fitting, though, for what was happening to me. The last thing I heard before I walked out of the room I’d grown so familiar with, was, “You stole my heart and then you let me go.”

Anyone could try as hard as they wanted, but none would convince me that the water on my face was a tear. I was not crying. I did not give her that much of myself. Her broken voice did not make me cry.

This world is unforgiving. Sometimes I wonder why she gave me so much of herself. She took fragments of herself and gave them to me on a weekly basis. She chipped away, and I was there, collecting all her broken parts.

Of course it got to the point where she wanted to give me her heart. She wanted to open her chest and give herself away to me. I refused. 

“It’s heavy,” she said. “Too heavy for me to handle anymore.” Once she’d said those words, maybe it all made sense, even if just for a second. There was always something weighing her down, so she gave me the fallen bits of her to try to lighten the load. It’s always been her using me.

I often wonder how anyone could trust someone else with their heart, their actual source of life. Maybe it’s because I’ve never been in love that I don’t understand, but I don’t think I would even then. That’s a ridiculous amount of trust to put in someone, and I didn’t deserve that from her.

I never loved her, not like she loved me, but seeing her on the couch in the house we’d lived in together for over a year, her body wasting away because of me… that hurt. I’ll never forget those words.

“You stole my heart and then you let me go.”

It’s not as if I meant to steal her heart. I never wanted it. She gave it to me. I don’t feel as though I tricked her into loving me. To accuse me of stealing something like a heart… what’s the truth behind that?

Letting go was something very hard for me to do, but it was somehow the easiest decision I’ve ever made. In this sick world, we all die once we fall in love. I knew it was never okay to let her die for someone who’d never loved her, so yea. Leaving was an easy decision.

I want her to heal. I’ve spent so much time watching her fall apart, and collecting her remains, her worn-out skin. I want to see her with the glow she had when I first met her.

I hate this world. I hate that falling in love is fatal. I hate that the only thing I could do was leave her. I still care about her. Some part of me always will. But it would hurt me more if I robbed her of a hopeful future.

**

I remember when I met her. She seemed to be a nice girl, shy, reserved. When we were just friends, she was usually quiet. She seldom gave me her opinions unless I asked for them. It never really felt like she wasn’t open-hearted, I guess it felt more as if she was insecure.

I was genuinely surprised when she walked up to me and handed me a piece of her skin that I could tell had come off her right arm, essentially confessing her love for me.

We started dating shortly after that. She and I both knew my skin wasn’t peeling. We thought, maybe it would after I got to know her better, after dating a while. Months had passed and my physical health was still steady. At that point, she and I had realized I would never die for her. I won’t ever know why she still stayed with me, even after knowing I didn’t feel for her what she felt for me.

Despite that, despite probably feeling lonely and hopeless because I would never love her, she always wore this smile that lit up any dark space she might come across. Maybe it was because I let her pretend I gave her what she wanted from me.

I shouldn’t have dated her. I shouldn’t have let “us” keep going after I knew nothing would come of it except her death. It was cruel.

I am glad I left her. If she died for me, because of me, I’d never forgive myself.

**

I read often, and I’ve read many books featuring worlds where love is a happy thing. Where you can be in love and still be alive. Where you can choose whether or not you give all of yourself to someone else. Love stories were always my favorite.

I suppose I have my own love story now. I want this to be my only one. I hate it. Part of me wishes I’d never met her, wishes I’d never met Marigold.


End file.
